


A Tale of Two Dragons

by WhiskeysWorks



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Collaboration, Gen, Shimada Backstory, Young Genji Shimada, Young Hanzo Shimada
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-24
Updated: 2019-07-24
Packaged: 2020-07-12 04:54:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19940521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhiskeysWorks/pseuds/WhiskeysWorks
Summary: “My family tells of an ancient legend about two great dragon brothers: the Dragon of the North Wind, and the Dragon of the South Wind,” Shojiro started, looking at each of his sons in turn before continuing. Genji glanced at Hanzo, smiling before turning his gaze back to their father.“Together, they upheld balance and harmony in the heavens. But the two brothers argued over who could better rule their land. Their quarrel turned to rage and their violent struggle darkened skies, until the Dragon of the South Wind struck down his brother, who fell to the earth, shattering the land…The Dragon of the South Wind had triumphed, but as time passed, he then realized his solitude. The sweetness of victory turned to ash.”





	A Tale of Two Dragons

**Author's Note:**

> This is a collaboration I did with mgenjo (tumblr)/gatzo (twitter), they're an amazing and talented artist I had the pleasure of working with. This is their piece here, please go check it out! https://tapas.io/series/Tale-of-Two-Dragons

“Otōsan! Tell us the story again!”

Hanzo rolled his eyes at his little brother’s exclamation. He was twelve years old and still liked their father telling them stories before bed. It was childish, and yet, Hanzo found himself pulling up his blanket higher and looking to Shojiro expectantly. Their father set his hand on Genji’s head, then sat down between their futons. 

“Which story would you like, Genji?” He asked quietly, though, there was a knowing look in his eye as Genji motioned excitedly with his hands.

“You know the one! With the dragons!”

“You mean the one where they were grounded for not going to sleep?”

“Otōsan,” Genji whined, Shojiro smiling as he leaned back against the wall. Hanzo rolled over to face him, Genji doing the same as their father took a breath.

“My family tells of an ancient legend about two great dragon brothers: the Dragon of the North Wind, and the Dragon of the South Wind,” Shojiro started, looking at each of his sons in turn before continuing. Genji glanced at Hanzo, smiling before turning his gaze back to their father. 

“Together, they upheld balance and harmony in the heavens. But the two brothers argued over who could better rule their land. Their quarrel turned to rage and their violent struggle darkened skies.” 

Shojiro’s voice rose as he held up a hand, sweeping it down as he spoke. He narrowed his eyes, tone changing as he paused, Genji kicking his feet under his covers.

“Until the Dragon of the South Wind struck down his brother, who fell to the earth, shattering the land…The Dragon of the South Wind had triumphed, but as time passed, he then realized his solitude. The sweetness of victory turned to ash.”

Hanzo stared at the tatami mats, fingers tapping against his pillow lightly. He pursed his lips as Genji leaned in, waiting for their father to continue.

“For years, the bereft dragon’s grief threw the world into discord, and he knew only bitterness and sorrow. One day, a stranger called up to the dragon and asked, ‘Oh dragon lord, why are you so distraught?’ The dragon told him, ‘Seeking power, I killed my brother. But without him, I am lost.’ The stranger replied, ‘You have inflicted wounds upon yourself, but now, you must heal. Walk the earth on two feet as I do. Find value in humility. Go to bed when your father asks you--”

“That’s not how it goes!” Genji interrupted, Hanzo blinking out of his slight daze.

“Are you the one telling the story? I think not, little sparrow,” Shojiro teased, Genji giggling as his hair was ruffled fondly. Hanzo chewed on his lower lip.

“I don’t like this one. Can you tell us a different one?”

“No! I want to hear the rest of this one, it’s almost done anyways! Please, Otōsan!

“Genji, we hear this one all the time--”

“And I like it! The dragons are so cool!”

“Boys. I will finish this one, and tell another, how does that sound?”

Genji nodded, Hanzo sighing before sinking back down into his bed. 

“Very well, then.” 

Shojiro cleared his throat, demeanor changing to add theatrics the story once again.

“‘Only then will you heal.’ The dragon knelt upon the ground. For the first time, he was able to clearly see the world around him, and he became human. The stranger revealed himself as his fallen brother. Reunited, the two set out to rebuild what they had once destroyed.” 

Genji rolled over and clapped, Shojiro smiling at him before turning to Hanzo.

“See? It is a quick story. Now you can pick one.”

Hanzo didn’t bother explaining that it wasn’t the length of the tale that made him uneasy, murmuring something about a different story he no longer wanted to hear.

\---

Hanzo winced as the needle bit into his skin again, ink seeping below the surface. Marks that would stay there forever, marks he was proud to bear. His dragons, drawn by the clan’s elder tattoo artist, perfected over generations of Shimadas sitting in the same spot he was, needles piercing their skin, marking, claiming. 

The elder had appraised him before his sixteenth birthday, circling around him time and time again, his leathery eyes narrowed. Finally, he had tisked and bowed himself out to start working on the initial design. Shojiro had been proud, Genji excited. Hanzo had blue ink tracing up over his arm the next day, the needle starting sharply just after it had been cleaned and prepared, piercing in clean, black lines. 

Genji watched avidly for the first few minutes, asking if Hanzo was okay, if it hurt much.

“I’m okay. It’s not that bad,” Hanzo replied truthfully, even as the sting of the needle continued to press consistently into his forearm. 

It was fading with each line Hanzo endured.

Genji became bored after ten minutes, which was expected. Hanzo would stay in the chair, still and silent for another four hours before he was given a break, which was expected. They were back at it again as soon as the elder tattoo artist was ready. 

\---

Hanzo cleaned his arm carefully, rinsing cool water over it. He had been training with his bow--nothing too strenuous, and he had made sure to cover it properly. The lines were almost complete. Details Hanzo had been staring at every night before he went to bed etched into his skin precisely, eloquently. 

Scales that already seemed to shift and move over his skin, even without colour. Fine lines of fur placed meticulously across the dragon’s back and tail. Delicate, intricate swirling storm clouds with bolts of lightning dancing across them. The dragon’s face, its mouth parted in a growl, ready to strike. 

He had been told colouring it would take at least another four sessions. There was to be blue ink covering most of his arm, so the dragon would stand out starkly against the raging storm. Hanzo trailed his fingers over it lightly, following the beast curling around his arm. 

“Anija!”

Hanzo blinked and looked up into the mirror, past his own reflection. Genji waved at him, hair still sticking to his brow, face red. He must have continued practicing while Hanzo went to clean up. 

He had watched his little brother train for a bit; the strokes favouring his left side needed work, always leaving his right open and vulnerable. But he was fast and agile, footwork mixing in seamlessly with his coordination and strikes. Hanzo had found that if Genji didn’t think he could win--as he often did when the two sparred together--he would work less on making his strikes clean and more on out-stepping the enemy. It won him a few rounds, until Hanzo caught on to the pattern. 

Genji always seemed to do better when he was not really trying. 

“Your hair is a mess,” Hanzo commented offhandedly, Genji grinning as he sat down next to him. He was still breathing heavy, heat coming off him in waves. Hanzo grimaced at the touch of his slightly damp hand on his tattoo.

“Go wash your hands! I have a colouring session in an hour, and I don’t need your sweaty paws giving me an infection.”

“I just want to look!”

“Then just look.”

Genji tilted his head as he looked at the dragon, hands going back to rest in his lap. Hanzo lifted his arm and showed it off a bit, a small smile growing on his lips as Genji’s eyes seemed to sparkle.

“It’s so cool! I can’t wait to get mine, then we can match!”

“That’s only if you get it on your arm, too. The elder might think it’ll look better somewhere else,” Hanzo told him, Genji making a face.

“But it’s my tattoo. I’ll get it where I want.”

“If you say so,” Hanzo shrugged. Genji stood up and bounced slightly on the balls of his feet.

“I want to see it again when you’re done with today’s session.”

“I’ll make sure and show you, if you’re not asleep.”

Genji grinned, then ran out of the room.

“I’ll probably be up playing that new game I got! You can play it too if you want, it has a co-op mode,” He called, voice fading along with the sound of thumping feet. 

Hanzo shook his head fondly, then went to go disassemble and clean his bow and arrows. 

\---

The dragon’s eye was golden, shaded to have depth, standing out against the deep blue of its scales. It watched him constantly, both an assurance and unsettling at the same time. Half completed in blue and gold, just like the dragon on the tapestry in the main hall. The Dragon of the South Wind intertwined with his brother. 

Hanzo didn’t know why he was recalling such a story now, in the middle of his meeting with the clan elders and his father. He must have zoned out. Shojiro was speaking in that tone that indicated he was unhappy with something, though, Hanzo hadn’t figured out what, just yet. Genji’s name popped up, the elders shaking their heads. 

Hanzo finally started to listen again.

“He has been doing everything we ask of him. Genji does not need further conditioning,” Shojiro argued, Hanzo looking between him and the elders thoughtfully. 

“I hardly think playing video games and going out to spend the clan’s money on frivolous activities is ‘doing everything we ask of him’, my lord.”

“Then what would you have him do, if not be the child he is?”

An elder glanced to Hanzo at that, his eyes narrowing. He said nothing, however, sitting back and watching the argument commence. Hanzo figured it was just another pair of eyes making sure he was doing what he was supposed to. 

“He can still be a child, but he must pick up more responsibilities. He must become more involved with the clan before he strays too far.”

Hanzo watched Shojiro’s jaw work, clenching slightly as he held the gaze of the woman that spoke up. 

“We can add to his training schedule and require more attendance to clan business, if you wish, but I will see to the additions myself.”

“Very well.”

The elder that had looked at him before caught Hanzo’s eye again, not looking away this time. He shifted in his seat, uncomfortable under the hard stare, cold and unwavering. Hanzo tried to focus on the meeting instead, the feeling of being watched following him even after it ended and he went to his kendo training. 

\---

Hanzo peeled off the protective layering over his tattoo, Genji gasping as it went on full display. It was beautiful; the colours bold and shaded to perfection, the design made to stand out and give a sense of majesty. Power. 

Hanzo could feel it, the way the dragons settled in his skin, a persistent presence. One to be called upon should he ever wish to. Only a Shimada could control the dragons, only a Shimada had that gift. The tattoo merely symbolized it, gave a visual connection to the mystical one. 

“It’s amazing,” Genji murmured, Hanzo tilting his arm this way and that to let it catch the light. 

He loved it. Deep, navy blue with shimmering gold cut through, black lines stark against the tan of his skin. The ink still fresh and shining. 

“They said I can get another one when I turn twenty-one. I might get matching ones on both my arms, like Otōsan’s. And you’ll be eighteen by then, you can get yours too.”

“I’d make mine green, though.”

Hanzo huffed a laugh.

“Of course you would.”

“I’d get it on my right arm too, since it’s the one I hold my katana with. Sounds cool, right?” Genji looked up at his brother the same way he always did when he expected him to agree or praise him, eyes wide and expression open. 

Hanzo gave him a little half grin, ruffling his hair and messing it up more than it already was. Genji made a noise of surprise, pulling back and swatting at Hanzo’s hand before trying to fix the style. 

“Yeah, that’s pretty cool.”

“Young master.”

Hanzo turned, brow raising as his posture straightened. A cold expression settled on his face, turning the corners of his mouth down and drawing his brows together. His attendant bowed briefly, then gave him an equally blank stare back.

“Your presence is requested in the Eastern hall.”

With a sigh, Hanzo stood, Genji watching him as he leaned back on his hands. 

“Very well, I will be there shortly.”

The woman bowed again, then walked away swiftly. Genji eyed her as she left, then tilted his body towards his brother.

“When you’re done with the meeting, you want to go get something to eat in town? Rikimaru is having a special on their ramen, they have a new flavour I think you’d like,” He offered. Hanzo gave him a look, brows furrowing slightly as he shook his head. 

“I cannot.”

“What? Why? You did all your training for the day, right?”

A nod, Genji frowning at the motion.

“So, come with me.”

“I have other things to attend to, Genji. This meeting is just one of the evening.”

“Oh,” Genji murmured, eyes drifting down to the floor before he stood fluidly and shrugged, hands going into his pockets.

“Well, if you change your mind, I’ll wait until your work is done.”

Hanzo fixed his yukata, going to the door and turning to Genji just before leaving.

“Do not bother, just go without me.”

\---

Genji grit his teeth and tried to wriggle his way out from Hanzo’s headlock, face red and sweat dripping from his forehead. Hanzo held fast, dropping his center of gravity slightly and widening his stance, not allowing his brother to hook a leg behind his and sweep it. He was getting sloppy, too easy to defeat. 

Going out almost every night partying, drinking, and staying in a club until the early hours of the morning was taking its toll. Hanzo had a feeling he was doing drugs on top of that as well. He certainly wouldn’t have been surprised if it was true. 

Genji finally slowed his struggles and tapped Hanzo’s forearm, gasping as he was let go.

“You do not even try anymore. Your form is lacking, your attacks too rushed. Steady your breath, keep your focus. Again!” He snapped, Genji throwing a glare his way. 

The younger Shimada had been acting out more and obeying less, ever since he had realized he could without much consequence. He did what he wanted while Hanzo was stuck with shouldering the burdens he left behind. The elders were starting to nag on him about the behaviour, but he would push back, give Genji the benefit of the doubt. 

Something he had taken from his father, the urge to protect Genji from what he had to endure. He gave in to far too easily when it came to the young sparrow. He took a strange sort of pride in shielding his little brother from the harshness of the clan, that innate sense driving him to side on Genji’s behalf every time the elders had a complaint.

“He will come around, just give him time.” 

“I will speak with him, he listens to me.”

“I will do it for him, then. He can take the next one.”

“Let him do what he wants.”

Hanzo brushed off his gi, their fight wrinkling the fabric, dirtying the white with stains of brown. 

“We’ve been at it for almost an hour. How many times do you have to beat my ass into the ground before you’re satisfied that you’re better at judo?” Genji grumbled, wiping his forehead and pushing his hair from his face. Hair that had recently been dyed green. Vibrant and obnoxious, screaming for attention. 

Hanzo hated it, but he couldn’t deny that it fit his brother. 

“At least once more. We go until you can beat me.”

Genji groaned, then shook his head. Waved a dismissive hand towards his brother as he walked towards the exit of the dojo. Hanzo’s nostrils flared, eyes narrowing.

“I’ve got somewhere to be tonight, I’m already late because of you. You can beat me up again tomorrow.” 

Hanzo’s jaw tightened as Genji left the dojo, slamming the shoji door shut as he went. 

\--- 

There was a weight Hanzo didn’t know his father had been bearing for him until he was gone. Shojiro’s ashes sat in front of him, and Hanzo had never felt it so acutely. Overbearing. A burden he was not ready to carry. But he had no other choice. He had been training for this moment his whole life, and yet, it felt like he was just a child waiting for someone to tell him what to do and how to do it. 

Shojiro’s death had been untimely, Hanzo rather young for having to take the mantle of oyabun. The elders were constantly watching him, whispering in his ear even at his father’s funeral. Any moment they had, they would share their ‘deepest condolences’ before murmuring something about him needing to be ready as the next head of the clan. 

Hanzo couldn’t stop staring at the box his father’s ashes were in, his mind oddly blank. He felt a muted sort of sorrow, face remaining stoic and stony while the Buddhist priest droned on with words he didn’t hear. His stomach churned, hands shaking slightly where they were pressed against prayer beads. 

Genji was crying quietly next to him, eyes downcast. For once, he was at the house and sober. Hanzo was just glad his brother was with him. He would not have to go through the day alone, even if Genji was there for their father, not him. 

The funeral felt like it lasted for a week; three days dragging by, each one slower and heavier than the last until finally, Shojiro was simply a memory. 

And Hanzo was suffocating in the legacy he had left behind.

\---

Genji’s tattoo had been started soon after their father had died, though, months later, there was still only half finished line-work on his right arm. Hanzo had mentioned it more as the weeks passed by, though, they had not talked much. 

A Shimada tattoo was something to be proud of, a blessing only given to those with pure blood and strong hearts. Those with the will of a dragon. Not to be left partially completed or brushed aside, as most of Genji’s responsibilities had been as of late. 

Hanzo kept him at a distance now that he had more work to take care of, more business meetings, more deals to strike, more assassinations and black market trades, always more. He would not let on that he was struggling with it on his own, because to admit that would be to admit a weakness. And weakness was always exploited. 

The elders had been speaking with Hanzo more about the unruly behaviour of his brother, the conversation shifting in a dangerous territory. 

“Genji’s actions need to be reigned in before he does something you cannot cover for him. He needs to step into his role in the clan, his family, or he will become a burden that needs to be cut from it.”

Hanzo clasped his hands in front of him, taking a moment to gather his thoughts before responding.

“I will see to it that he understands the position he is in.”

“My lord, if I may speak freely,” An elder spoke up. The same one that had been watching him when he was still learning from his father, the same one that had been whispering to him for years about what he needed to do for the clan with the promise of greatness in his future. 

Hanzo nodded once, sharply. 

“You have done nothing but try and help Genji, take burdens off his shoulders and allow him the freedom he takes so brashly, and what have you gotten in return for this effort? For years, you and your father took on what he would not so he could do what? Party, drink, and waste himself away late into the night.” 

“When people in town think of the Shimada name, is this what you want them to imagine? A boy with no respect or shame, using his family as an excuse to get what he wants? They should respect and fear the Shimadas, their power and reach, as they do for you. They know who you are, what you stand for. Perhaps it is time to let Genji know this as well, or teach him if he refuses to listen to you.”

Hanzo leveled the elder with a cold gaze, eyes flicking to the side after a moment.

“Perhaps you are right…”

“He is meant to be at your side, assisting you with your work and bettering the clan. That is what he was born to do. You have followed your path, and here you stand with an empire at your command. He is straying from his, and you see the havoc he is wreaking, yes? He needs only a few...Corrections.”

“I will see what I can do.”

“Very good, my lord.”

\---

Genji had not listened. Time and time again, he walked away from Hanzo trying to reason with him, asking for help, laying his trust out only to be pushed away and proven wrong to have given it. Their conversations turned short, full of bitter comments and resigned tones. 

A rift had grown between them over the years; Hanzo could not quite tell when it had started, but it was a cold and gaping thing now. Left unattended, chipping away at the edges to widen the distance between them with every argument, slammed door, and frustrated shout. Some things left unsaid, some things where too much was said. 

Hanzo knelt on the tatami, the ridges digging into his knees. His chest was bare, the air around him cold and biting. Winter was setting in early this year. He felt as ill-disposed and distant as the wind blowing through the grey skies, whipping the clouds into storms. 

At the sound of metal hissing, his hands clenched into fists on his knees. He could feel the heat of it by his right shoulder, the two dragons of the Shimada clan crest burning a livid orange at the end of the brand. 

“It is tradition. The mark of the Shimada clan. The mark of the master,” They had told him. Hanzo had not argued, gone through the motions of binding himself to the clan symbolically before it would become yet another marking to carry with him forever. 

He had murmured oaths into the silence, listened to those returned to him as oyabun, people promising loyalty and unending fidelity to the clan, to him. Genji was not among them, as he should have been. As Hanzo had asked him to. 

He did not flinch as the heated metal was pressed to his arm, the smell of burning flesh the only thing that made his expression change. Just a slight wrinkle of his nose, quickly corrected into the wall of stone he had perfected. That stench never failed to make Hanzo’s stomach turn, disgust as potent as the smell. 

The pain set in when the brand was removed, stinging and throbbing across his shoulder. Unpleasant, but he’d had worse. 

The ceremony finished as monotonous as it had started, everyone bowing low as Hanzo stood and faced them, now as the oyabun. His title was merely made official, but nothing would change. 

For a brief moment, Hanzo wondered if this was the life he had always imagined he would have.

\---

Hanzo stared at the polished wood of the table, feeling disconnected from himself. Body and mind distant, uncoordinated. Words spoken without really processing or feeling.

“Very well, I will do it.”

\---

Hanzo sat poised and still, like a statue. It was almost as if he was one now, cold and hard as any stone. Sculpted by the clan, maintained by his duty to do right by them. He was waiting. Genji should have arrived ten minutes ago, but Hanzo had not expected him to be on time. 

There was not much Hanzo expected of him anymore. 

Such potential, gone to waste by his own devices. They could have built an empire together, but Genji had chosen to walk away from his birthright, discard it as though it meant nothing to him. Maybe it did mean nothing to him.

The shift of weight down a hallway had Hanzo’s attention, soft footsteps coming to a halt behind him. Genji stepped into view, wearing his training gi--the one with the sleeves torn off. It was the first time he had been at the estate in over two weeks; he had left after their previous fight, both brothers angry and frustrated, neither willing to budge. 

Hanzo lifted his head, hands settling on the weight of his katana resting in his lap. He had just finished cleaning it, meticulous and precise. It would be a short meeting, no matter the outcome. 

The younger Shimada held something in his hands, sitting down next to Hanzo and setting it between them.

“Hey. Thought you could use some of this. It’s your favourite.” 

Hanzo glanced at the sake bottle Genji motioned to, a frown curving his lips. It was his favourite, but now was not the time to get drunk and sloppy, as Genji might. A mere token of goodwill could not help him now. 

The silence became uncomfortable after a moment, Genji sighing and leaning back on his hands. He had always done that, ever since he was little. Something about that thought struck Hanzo wrong. 

“You wanted to talk? I’m actually glad, I’ve been meaning to do the same,” He continued. Still at ease, eyes distant as they looked out to the city lights twinkling just beyond the balcony. Hanzo’s grip tightened on the hilt of his katana.

“I feel like we’re just...We’re definitely not the people we used to be. And I think that’s setting us further and further apart. I miss when we were younger and you…” Genji trailed off, eyes shifting to his brother before he took a breath.

“I don’t like what we’ve done to ourselves, I guess. But, I still don’t want to change for the sake of something I don’t believe in, Hanzo.”

They’d had this conversation dozens of times, and dozens of times, Hanzo had snapped at him for saying that. Now was no different. Old habits coming to haunt him again.

“Of course you don’t. You have not for years now, and it has done nothing but cause me more problems.”

“Anija, I’m not here to fight you on this. I just thought we could talk without it turning into an argument, for once,” Genji sighed, a hand going up to tug his hair from his forehead. 

Hanzo caught sight of his tattoo, dark lines and scales left half finished. His arm went back behind the curve of his body to support his weight, hiding it again. 

“I have tried to speak with you time and time again--”

“I know, okay? You just repeat what the elders shove down your throat, and I’m tired of hearing it. I know I’m a disappointment and a disgrace to the clan, I get it. And they know I don’t care what they think or want to do what they tell me. That’s not going to change. But I’m here to talk to you, not them. I need to talk to you, Hanzo.”

Hanzo’s lip twitched just slightly. If that was truly how Genji felt, so be it. He stared at the tapestry of the dragons, bodies intertwined in green and blue, working together in harmony. 

Standing up took more effort than it should have, his body feeling heavy. As if he was not truly in control of it. Anger flared bright and hot in his chest, the dragons rumbling low as the words of the elders came back to him. 

Genji had flown away long ago, left him behind, chained to the cage of the clan to uphold on his own, and he had not looked back. He had left him alone, even after everything he had tried to do for him. Genji had disobeyed the clan, and it was Hanzo’s duty to maintain order. 

So he would.

“You are not going to change, then?” Hanzo murmured. He could hear the resignment in Genji’s voice as he responded, and there was a bite of annoyance there too. It only irked Hanzo further.

“That isn’t the point I’m trying to make, but no. Not if it’s going to be like this, I won’t.”

Hanzo was quiet for a long moment, then he nodded to himself. His katana caught the light as he unsheathed it, the motion quick and practiced. 

“So be it.”

\---

The gardens were lovely at night; there was a peace to them that could not be found anywhere else. Soft, orange light cast on the smooth grey of stone pathways and patches of vibrant grass, littered with cherry blossom petals. The moon was full and bright. 

Hanzo’s fingers dripped with blood as he wiped his katana clean of the crimson staining it further. The stench of smoke and ash followed him as he set his blade down and walked back to his wing.

\---

Hanzo walked past Genji’s room and paused, brows furrowing as he backtracked and looked inside. Still empty. Genji avoiding home after they had fought yet again. Hanzo walked inside silently, closing the windows with a soft tap. They must have been left open after Genji had left, again. 

Hanzo understood why he didn’t want to be there, but he had not seen his brother in a long time, too many days passing in a blur to count anymore. He missed him. There was no one else for him to talk to, no one else he trusted the way he trusted Genji. There had not even been a call. 

He had asked around the estate earlier that day, talked to servants and guards of Genji’s, but none had seen him. There were a few that gave him hesitant looks every now and then, but it was to be expected. Hanzo did not often ask where Genji was, anymore.

A headache flared behind Hanzo’s eyes--he had been getting more of those lately--and he grimaced. Sleep was alluding him, although, Hanzo had only been having nightmares lately, waking in a cold sweat most nights. He remembered arguing with Genji last he had seen him, a bitter sense of regret nagging at him for acting out of anger again. 

While Genji’s habits were to distract himself and run away from his problems, Hanzo’s were to become frustrated with them, unable to let go or see different solutions once he had the one he wanted in mind. It had caused him more issues than not when it came to dealing with his younger brother. 

Hanzo sighed and went past his own room. It was late, and a walk in the spring air would do good to clear his head. He thought about the dreams he had been having lately; gruesome images with red smeared across his vision, someone shouting and pleading, the wreckage of something at his feet. It wasn’t easy to deal with, but these things tended to happen to trained assassins. Sleep never came easy, and the dreams were never good ones. 

Walking through the garden was nice, the weather still cool and dry enough to be pleasant. He tried to remember how long Genji had been gone for this time. Was it weeks? Or had it only been one or two days? Hanzo could not recall. Perhaps Genji had been right all along, maybe he was overworking himself. 

Stepping over the sakura petals and following the stone walkway, Hanzo made it to the main hall. He was silent as he wandered inside, noticing some scratches in the floor. Hanzo knelt to examine them. Ran his fingertips over the splintery wood, that small strand of hair slipping from behind his ear as his head tilted. 

Those had not been there before. He stepped closer to the katana on display, resting on a pristine stand, a chip in the blade. Blood on the scroll hanging behind it, a cut running through the bottom. Hanzo sucked in a sharp breath. 

Something snapped.

Genji stood there in front of the scroll, brows furrowed in confusion. He shook his head, motioning to the katana in Hanzo’s hands.

“What is this? You know fear tactics don’t work on me anymore. I’m not a child.” 

“No, you are not. Which is why I can no longer protect you from them. You made your choices, Genji. Now you have forced me to make mine.” 

“This is ridiculous. I will not fight you anymore. If this is how you’re going to continue to treat me, I’m leaving. For good. I have something I’ve been working on, people who see me for who I am and what I want to be. I’m not going to stay trapped here forever. I hope that one day you can do the same,” Genji told him, gaze bright and fiery. 

He turned and began to walk away, Hanzo gritting his teeth. The katana moved in a flash, Genji grunting and stumbling as it cut clean through his heels. The first drops of blood splattered in a little arc as Hanzo flicked the sword back up into a defensive hold.

“You will not walk away from the clan this time, brother. I let you stray too far, and now, it is my duty to fix that mistake. You have left me no other options,” Hanzo whispered. 

He felt the first tears slide down his cheeks as Genji looked up at him from behind his shoulder, eyes wide with fear. Never had Genji looked at him like that before. Hanzo felt something in him shatter, a voice in his mind telling him to stop, this is your little brother, don’t hurt him. 

But the blade swung again and again, Genji shouting as his arm was sliced open, again and again. Deep gashes across his body, more stains on the floor, on Hanzo’s clothes. He fought back, reached for the katana on display, Hanzo’s own blade chipping it with the force of his blow. 

But he was already losing. 

He always had against Hanzo. 

Genji scrambled back, clutching at the wall to try and push himself to his feet. A tear ripped through the bottom of the scroll behind him, his blood staining the paper, spreading like ink. Genji collapsed again with a cry of pain.

“Hanzo, don’t! Please…!”

Blue crackled along Hanzo’s tattoo as he raised his arm, an odd sort of numbness blanketing his mind as he watched his dragons burst forth. The katana sang, the force of the beasts being unleashed upon it, upon Genji, creating an ungodly chorus. Genji’s screams and pleads were drowned out in the ethereal growls and roars. Blue and red mixing in a cacophony of sound and colour. The dragons dissipated, leaving a ruined Genji in their wake. 

Hanzo stepped closer to his body, looked down at the arm partially torn from his torso. Black lines of ink shaping scales and clouds, red smeared across it in streaks. Unfinished. 

Genji had wanted it to be green, some time ago, had wanted it to match Hanzo’s. 

Blood dripped from Genji’s lips, eyes staring up at the roof, unseeing. It smelled of ozone and burnt flesh. Hanzo’s nose wrinkled slightly. He looked up at the tapestry of the dragons again, unable to recall the story his father had once told them at the moment. 

But he did remember it was Genji’s favourite story. 

Hanzo blinked, taking a shuddering breath as he heard voices behind him, barking out orders. 

“Dispose of the body. Take care no one sees, and clean this mess quickly.”

Hanzo watched as guards and a few of the elders filed into the room, the latter watching him with a cold sort of approval. It made him feel sick, but the emotionless mask settled into place, hiding what he felt inside as easily as it always had. Hiding the pain in his heart and the tears, the way he felt like he was falling apart, breaking and crumbling. 

“My lord, you must stop!”

Hanzo frowned. The voice had not come from anyone in the room. 

Hands grabbed at his arms, and he pulled away with a shout, back hitting the scroll. His katana fell with a clatter, an attendant jumping away from it. The woman stared at him as he looked around the room with wide eyes, heart racing and a cold sweat on his brow. His hands shook, heart pounding and breathing uneven. 

“My lord?”

Hanzo’s gaze darted to her, then down to himself. There were cuts along his hands and arms, blood warm and stinging as it ran in little rivulets down his palms and fingers. He dropped to his knees, body curling over as he gripped his head. 

“What have I done?! What did I do to him?!”

“My lord, please, I don’t know what you mean…”

“Where is Genji?! Where is he?!”

The attendant looked down at him, brows furrowed and lips pursed. Hanzo felt like he was going to throw up. Tears joined the blood running down his cheeks. How many days had Genji been gone?

“He is dead, sir.”

Hanzo swallowed thickly, his father’s story on repeat in his mind along with the images of Genji’s broken body at his feet. Genji was dead, struck down by his brother, and Hanzo was choking on the ashes of what was left of himself.

**Author's Note:**

> My tumblr is OverwatchWorks, there are many more McGenji and other fics there! :) Thank you for reading! And thank you again to Gatzo, I had so much fun writing and working on this with you!


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